American Bad Boy(74)

“My man!” Mack high fives him enthusiastically.

Our son could compete with the sun right now for who’s shining brightest.

“Mack, nice to see you again,” Chelsea smiles at him.

“Hey, lady! Thanks for helping me out,” he nods over at her and I know I don’t have a cool superhero nickname but my Spidey sense starts tingling. Helping him with what?

“What are you wearing,” I interrupt their meaningful looks. “I’m not dressed for where we’re going if you’re wearing a tux!” I look down over the outfit I painfully picked out, rejected, tried back on, and finally settled on.

“Don’t worry about that!” Chelsea interrupts before I have a chance to fully get immersed in Mack’s hypnotizing stare. “Come with me, I’ve got you something to wear,” she slides up beside me and grabs my hand.

She quickly pulls me up the stairs before I have a chance to process much of what’s happening let alone protest over it. I look down over my shoulder as my feet automatically follow my sister and I see Chris and Mack talking like two old friends at a party.

It's hard to be overly concerned with whatever the hell is going on right now when my Mom heart is overflowing with joy.

Chelsea leads me back down to my bedroom and lets go of my hand, leaving me to fend for myself by the door while she raids my closet. What the hell is she doing?

Quickly, she slides hanger after hanger forward until she finds whatever she’s looking for. She pulls a floor length, purple gown from behind my work clothes and tosses it on the bed.

“Put this on,” she smiles.

“Where did that come from?” I peer past her into my magical closet making amazing, elegant ball gowns appear. Is there a door to Narnia back there too?

“I hid it in there,” she looks entirely too proud of herself with her chest puffed out and her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, you did, huh?”

“Yeah, and I know it’s a perfect fit cause I got your measurements from your other clothes. Well, from the ones you actually wear,” she laughs at her jab about my collection of clothes I’ll never fit into again.

I look at the lavender dress on my bed and then back to my sister. I know she’s got my best interest at heart, so I won’t question her… not yet anyway.

Instead, I slip out of the clothes I agonized over and put the dress on. “Can you zip me up, please?” I look over my shoulder at her.

“Sure.” She helps me close the back as I admire how the light purple hue of the dress plays off of my skin tone. I look good, even if I do say so myself.

“Where’s Mack taking me? Why are we dressing up like this?” I turn and confront Chelsea once I feel the zipper reach the top.

“Nope. I’ll never tell you,” she sing-songs. Like she’s a five-year-old version of herself taunting the three-year-old version of myself.

She clamps down on my hand and practically drags me out of the bedroom, back down the hall and to the stairs.

“Oh, mom! You look like a princess!” Chris exclaims and almost immediately bashfully looks at his feet, like he’s ashamed of his declaration. It’s probably incredibly uncool to say that to your mom. It might be uncool, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my week.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Mack’s eyes glide over me from head to toe. “You look amazing, but I don’t think you look like a princess,” he looks up at me after sweeping his eyes down my body all the way to my bare feet.

“Oh, no?” I pout.

“No. You don’t look like a princess, because you’re no princess. You’re my queen.” He grabs my hand and twirls me around in a small circle. I spin around with my eyes closed and enjoy the way the dress feels as it billows out around my legs.

I do feel like a queen. His queen. Wait, a minute. This queen doesn’t have any shoes to wear with this dress.

“My feet!” I stop on a dime and look down at my toes woefully.

“Got it covered,” Chelsea smiles.

“Come over here,” Mack walks me back to my couch and I sit as soon as my legs touch the seat.

Chelsea rummages in the back of my coat closet and pulls out a shoe box. “Got it!”

Seriously? Is my whole house full of hidden Easter eggs for this date?

She drops the box beside Mack, who is kneeling at my feet. He opens the lid and I watch with my breath held as he pulls out the first velvet crushed high heel shoe. The heel must be six inches long. I’m going to officially break my neck tonight, that much is apparent. I look up at Chelsea, her smug smile is practically popping off her face. I’m 100% certain that these shoes were her brainchild.